from “Something Lost, Something Gained”
We talked as the train rocked,
as the miles showed nothing but empty space,
we talked through the pink of the setting sun,
I told him about Ma dying.
I told him about my father,
and how the thing that scared us both the most
And now I’d gone and left him.
I told him about the piano,
and how I wasn’t certain of the date,
but I thought it might be my birthday,
but he was sleeping by then, I think.
Ma had been tumbleweed too,
holding on for as long as she could,
then blowing away on the wind.
My father was more like the sod (1).
Steady, silent, and deep.
Holding on to life, with reserves underneath
to sustain (2) him, and me,
and anyone else who came near.
stayed rooted, even with my tests (3) and my temper,
even with the double sorrow of
Hesse, Karen. Out of the Dust. Scholastic, Inc., 1997, pp. 201–202.